


Lunch Date

by samchandler1986



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: F/M, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-09
Updated: 2018-02-09
Packaged: 2019-03-15 23:09:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13623441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/samchandler1986/pseuds/samchandler1986
Summary: What happens after the Gate closes.Prompt fic: Can you write a post S2 fic where Joyce drops by the station for lunch once/twice a week and it becomes a habit and neither of them think much of it until Flo is like really guys?





	Lunch Date

The aftermath is this: quietly sweeping broken glass, the sharp smell of burning paper. Will and El are still pale-faced and peaky, talking quietly together on the sofa.

They work to put the house back together. There’s something soothing about making right her battered home, putting shattered pieces back to order. Hands move and the mind freewheels, ticking over. Fuzzy still with exhaustion.

He watches her from the corner of his eye, cleaning out a freezer that was filled with reeking demodog. She gives away nothing, shutters down, but he _knows_ what it feels like. The numbness. A brain that skids away from the reality of things, refusing to acknowledge the awfulness that has come to pass.

So they work, hammering and sweeping, washing and fixing. Jonathan returns at some point with buckets of fried chicken. They eat, return to work. Until there’s really nothing more to be done and it’s time to take El home.

“Hey,” he says, on the threshold. Before she closes the door on him literally and figuratively. “Call me. If you need to talk. Okay?” He gives her shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

She nods, patting his hand in return. “Yeah,” she lies, “I-I will.”

* * *

He sits in the Blazer, screwing up his courage, smoking. “Fuck it,” he says, eventually, stubbing out the cigarette and swinging his legs out of the cab.

She doesn’t look up when he enters, counting cash at the end of the shift. “Sorry, we’re closed,” she calls. Sounding tired, but reassuringly like herself.

“I know.”

 _Now_ she sees him, giving small smile. “Hey, Hop. Can I- can I help you with something?”

“Uh, yeah, actually…”

“What do you need?”

He scratches his ear, supremely awkward. “Uh, for El. I don’t have a lot of suitable…things…” She waits patiently for him to reach his point. He coughs and pulls himself together. “Um, of clothes. You know, for a kid? For a girl. Going to the Snow Ball.”

“Oh!” She covers her mouth, a perfect ‘o’ of surprise. “Of course. I didn’t think. Well… um, I could pick something up?”

“Would you? Kind of… awkward for me to…”

“Yeah, I-I get it.” She bites her lip. “Do you know what colour she’d like?”

“Um…”

“Okay. It’s okay. I’ll.. I’ll figure it out. The Ball’s… uh, Tuesday, right? I can bring it round tomorrow. Lunchtime?”

“Uh, yeah,” he manages. “Thanks.”

* * *

 “Joyce?”

“Hi, Flo.”

“Is everything okay?”

“Yeah. Um. Yeah. Everything’s fine. I just… uh, bought Hop a little lunch. As a… a thank you.”

“Well, maybe you’ll have more luck getting that idiot to eat some fruit,” Flo says, rolling her eyes. “He’s in his office.”

“Thanks.”

Joyce hurries down the corridor. Hopper is indeed in his office, deep in a report. He scowls at the paper, dusty boots propped on his desk. She coughs politely and his head snaps round.

“Hey!”

“Hey.” She comes to join him, closing the door firmly behind. Passes over the JC Penney bag.  “Uh, a dress, a belt, some shoes. Nancy lent a little make up too, and there’s a few other bits and pieces I figured you might need.”

“Thanks.”

“No problem.”

He looks at her under beetling brows, about to ask the question she’s been dreading—

“How’s Will?”

“I’m—” she starts, the lie on her tongue tripping out before she can call it back. “He’s okay. Nightmares. But nothing more than before.”

“Good. That’s good.”  He drums his fingers on the desk. “So, do you just have some sort of arrangement with Flo or…?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, no one else seems able to get into to my office so damn quickly.”

“Oh!” She chuckles. “Actually, I told her that I was bringing you some lunch. As a thank you.”

“Huh.” His expression has brightened. “Did you?”

“Er, no. No, sorry…”

“It’s okay. Supposed to be on a diet anyway.”

She tries to keep the sceptical look from her face, but he sees right through her. Laughs, to her relief. “Yeah, yeah, I know.”

“I didn’t say _anything_ —”

“You don’t have to.”

 _I never do_ , she doesn’t say. Just smiles and take the proffered pack of Camels instead.

* * *

“Hey, Flo—”

She waves her hand. “In his office.”

Math books, some new shoes and a mix-tape change hands surreptitiously, behind the closed office door.

He’s made sandwiches in return – slightly stale - but she’s not one for complaining.

* * *

“Hi Flo—”

“He’s in there. Tell him he better not be smoking.”

A skirt, an X-Men comic and some wax crayons this week. She’s made lunch this time. Salad and coleslaw that makes him sigh deeply before inhaling an entire Tupperware’s worth anyway.

* * *

 “Afternoon Flo—”

“Hi Joyce. He just radioed. Got caught up in a little bother over at Elroy’s farm. On his way.”

“Thanks.”

“You may as well go in there and wait for him.”

She does so, tapping her fingers on the scored wood of his desk. About to pace around and have a real nosey when he returns.

“Don’t even ask,” he says, harried. “Owls. What is it with _owls_ in this town?”

* * *

Today he meets her at the door. “I need to get some air,” he says darkly. “Lunch out?”

“Sure,” she says. It makes the transfer of this week’s supplies – an old Walkman, socks, writing paper - even easier.

He drives them to the local diner; orders the salad but steals half her fries.

* * *

She’s late. He stumps into the office again, for another cup of coffee he doesn’t need. His hands are already shaking slightly from the caffeine. Fumbles his cigarette—

Flo pulls the offending roll-up from his hand, replacing it with a small tangerine. “Can I have a word?”

“Sure, Flo,” he drawls.

“In private?”

No other words can guarantee such hush in the main office. “Uh, sure,” he parrots, retreating to the relative safety of his room, and wondering not for the first time why Flo still commands such knock-kneed terror.

She shuts the door behind them. It must _really_ be serious. He applies his most winning smile—

She folds her arms, raising her eyebrows. “I’m sure that usually works a charm,” she says pointedly, “but you’re wasting it on me.”

“Uh—”

“And you’re making a damn fool of yourself.”

He doesn’t doubt it, but he’s somewhat at sea as to _how._ “What have I done?” he tries, as no further information seems to be forthcoming.

“Mooning like a lovesick teenager in and out of the front office.”

He can’t quite swallow the splutter of indignant disbelief. “I’m sorry? What?”

“Do I really need to spell it out?” 

“Uh, yeah, maybe a little—!”

“Joyce,” she says pointedly, “is late for your regular liaison.”

“Our regular _what_?” he yelps, forgetting to keep his voice down.

She gives him a pitying look. “You always were a bit slow on the uptake with this sort of thing, weren’t you?”


End file.
